


It's In Your Eyes

by bocajenjy



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, kind of e/R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-03
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-28 08:04:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/989696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bocajenjy/pseuds/bocajenjy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras goes find Grantaire after the later doesn't attend a meeting. What he finds it's not what he wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's In Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! My first fic for this fandom (and the first thing I write in couple of years). Inspired by George Blagden's cover and this post on tumblr: imagine grantaire singing his cover canonically and enjolras leaning against the door trying to listen and during the rewrite he bursts in all oblivious and defensive and goes “you’re good for nothing, fool? i’ve never said that” and grantaire is like sort of crying maybe or drinks a whole bottle down in front of him and finally when he can look up he quietly says “you didn’t have to. it’s in your eyes” (http://jackolanternjavert.tumblr.com/post/59911067930/imagine-grantaire-singing-his-cover-canonically)  
> I actually wrote that a few weeks ago, but I didn't have an account.

Enjolras was worried. Enjolras was worried because Grantaire was late. Grantaire was never late. Since when he first appeared in one of Les Amis meetings, two years ago, he would appear just to tear Enjolras’s arguments apart, he would be drunk, hungover, or he would just sit and sleep for half of the meeting. But he would never be late. Well, okay, this particular meeting was called in a rush, due to the need of having everything thing prepared for the protest on Saturday (even though Combeferre had already arranged everything the week before). However, like it was said before, Grantaire was never late. That is why, after the meeting ended, half an hour after it had started, Enjolras found himself walking to the cynic’s place, in the rain, telling himself he was there to see if the posters the other man was supposed to do were ready.

He arrived at the rather old and falling to pieces building, before going upstairs and knocking on the door.

No answer.

He knocked again.

No answer. Again.

He knocked a third time.

He was left without an answer for the third time.

Enjolras opened the unlocked door and entered the living room. He had never been in Grantaire’s place before. Open bottles were scattered through the wooden floor, which had splatters of paint, mostly red and gold. There was no sign of Grantaire in the living room, so he headed to the kitchen. No one was there too. Paying more attention, Enjolras could hear a delicate sound coming from the bedroom. As he got closer to the partially opened door, he could hear the other man’s sweet voice.

“Love of mine someday you will die  
But I'll be close behind  
I'll follow you into the dark”

He didn’t know Grantaire could sing. Or play the guitar.

“No blinding light or tunnels to gates of white  
Just our hands clasped so tight  
Waiting for the hint of a spark”

The song was nice. A bit depressing, although depressing wasn’t an unusual adjective when the subject was the drunk of the group.

“If heaven and hell decide  
That they both are satisfied  
Illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs

If there's no one beside you  
When your soul embarks  
I'll follow you into the dark”

Enjolras leaned in the door, watching the silhouette of his friend. The wild curls, looking straight ahead, while perfectly playing the guitar. At least for Enjolras, who didn’t understand a thing about music.

“In Revolutionary school as vicious as Musain rule  
I got my feelings bruised by the Leader in Red  
And I propped the bar as he told me  
‘R, you’re good for nothing, fool’  
And I heard every word that he said.”

“You’re good for nothing, fool? I’ve never said that!” Grantaire went rigid when he heard Enjolras’s voice. The blond boy seemed startled too, realizing that he had invaded his friend’s bedroom. It was the truth; he had never said anything like that. Yes, Grantaire could be useless and a general pain in the ass sometimes, but he was still incredibly talented and could accomplish impressive things if he at least tried, Enjolras thought. His eyes darted from the frozen hands in the guitar, to the empty bottle of whiskey lying on the floor, then going to the mass of raven curls that had turned to him but were still staring at the ground. Enjolras could see the tears running through the pale cheeks, and when Grantaire looked at him, he was able to see those blue eyes blurred by the alcohol. They looked scared. No, not scared, this wasn’t the right word. They looked hurt, resentful, but mostly sad. Broken.

“You didn’t have to. It’s in your eyes.”

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my first language, so I'm really sorry for any mistakes, feel free to correct me.


End file.
